Baddery City
by Clair de SolCrazie
Summary: Roderich Edelstein, personification of Austria, is kidnapped, experimented on, and eventually found to have no memory of anything, or how he ended up in a city where the government enjoys torturing their citizens. He is suddenly faced with the task of fighting against the government, while his fellow nations wonder where he had disappeared off to, and how he ended up there.
1. Chapter I: Beginning

Breathing out a heavy sigh, Roderich tucked a gloved hand into one of the pockets of his claret coat, snuggling his chin deeper into his dark purple scarf. Around him, people sang joyously over the upcoming holiday, Christmas, and danced happily over the cobblestone in front of busy bakeries and boisterous shops. Yes, Vienna was truly beautiful at midnight, but in the winter, it was as if everything had been transformed into a bright and cheerful dreamland. The children would dance in unrhythmic patterns, and the adults would sing to their hearts' content, either oblivious or uncaring to notice their horrible voices. It was perfect in every way, and Roderich couldn't help but shyly smile behind the thick neck-warmer, unable to contain the joy that washed over him as he watched his people. His people, the people of Austria.

He was Austria, was he not? And the sight of watching his people so cheerful, so happy to be in their country, just made him blithe. The streets were redolent with the scent of sugary pastries, alcohol, and fresh greens. A strange scent, but nice, nonetheless. The bitter cold did not effect anyone, not even when they slipped over the frost of the road. They would just laugh and get right back up, then continue to twirl and bend to the music being amplified over the shops' speakers. Everyone and everything was lit up, either with the bright festival lights strung from one building to another, or the giddy smiles that graced the citizens' red-nosed faces.

Roderich wished he could join in with them, dance and play with the little children, and talk about absolutely nothing to the adults, wasted or not, then maybe go and get a pastry. An apfelstrudel preferably, but he might settle with a slice of chocolate lava cake, or a fruit tart. However, he was sadly busy. He was Austria, and being a nation meant you had responsibilities to take care of. Roderich could only clutch his chestnut coffee to his chest as he passed by the celebrating humans and yearn. Yearn for the freedom that they didn't even know they had.

It hurt. Roderich figured that out a long time ago. It hurt to watch humans be free, having short lives that they enjoyed more than any nation could in their neverlasting ones. Roderich simply ignored it, though, like every other nation had. Even Italy, Feliciano Vargas, the one who was absolutely terrified by the littlest things, seemed to be able to ignore the pain. Roderich, however, still felt it. It became numb over the years, but it was still there, and Roderich still found it hard to forget. All he could do now was let out his feelings through the gentle notes that resonated through his large mansion, coming from the shiny black piano that rested in one, large room.

His old, ancient piano was the only thing that kept him sane. Not even love could keep him sane. If anything, that was what destroyed him. So many marriages, all ending with heartbreaking divorces. In the end, he would be told that they never actually loved him, and all he could do was plaster a fake smile and say "That's fine, I'm not hurt." He was an actor, a very good one, and no one has ever suspected him of ever feeling hurt. He was labelled "asexual" by his friends and family –Italy, Hungary, Germany, even Holy Rome when he was still around– but in all truth, he just didn't want to be hurt. He just wanted the right person. He thought Antonio was the one, once, a long time ago, but it was anything but. Antonio did it only because his boss ordered it, but Roderich did it willingly. Antonio was a kindhearted, lovable Spaniard, and he made almost everyone around him happy. Romano liked to act like he was one of the very few people who hated him, but everyone knew it was just him being –what did Japan call it? Oh yes– tsundere.

Roderich stopped his run-on thoughts and stared, frozen, at his motorcycle up ahead. He frowned in distaste, watching a familiar albino lean on the wall, just by his ride. Muttering small, German curses under his frosty breath, he pulled up his hood over his almond hair and hunched his back in a small attempt to hide his identity from the annoying Prussian waiting by his destination. Of course, it was a futile attempt, but it didn't hurt to try, did it?

And as predicted, that very Prussian noticed him. "'Sup, Roddy! What'cha doing? You trying to try out for the Hunchback of that... old... French building...?"

Roderich scowled, shooing his hood off of his head and taking the last sip of his coffee. "I was trying to avoid you, but apparently that's impossible," he barked, throwing the cup into the nearby garbage. "What are you doing here anyways?"

"Heard you had a hot ride from you're scary-ass psycho ex-wife. Which one is it?" Gilbert chirped, taking a pinch of the other's cheek and stretching it a bit. It was always a wonder how Austria's cheeks could stretch so wide, but he never actually asked why, other than the times he teased him about it. Which was a lot...

"The one you aren't aloud to touch." Slapping away the intruding hand, Roderich made way to his black, KTM motorbike, swinging himself on.

Prussia snorted, walking over and snaking an arm over Roderich's shoulders. "What's a princess like you doing on a motorcycle? Without protective gear, no less."

Roderich glared at the arm that was so casually draped over his shoulders, his mouth twisted into a look of disgust. He dug into his pocket and took out leather gloves, using them to replace the knitted ones that protected his fingers from the chills. "I have my gloves. My boots are leather, so there isn't going to be any accident because of my shoelaces getting caught. My helmet was recently stolen, considering that it's not on my bike anymore. You took it, didn't you? Give it back, I need to go home to finish my paperwork."

Gilbert tapped a finger to his chin, as if trying to look as if he was actually thinking about it, but smirked and looked down at Roderich slyly. "Nah, I think I'll keep it."

If possible, Roderich's frown grew deeper. He checked his watch._11:43_. He really had no time for Prussia's silly little games. With a deep sigh, he looked back up at Prussia and gave him an exhausted look. "Gilbert, I really need to get back home. I'm exhausted, I haven't slept right in two weeks, and my boss is currently quite angry with me for being slow with my progress on my paperwork. Not to mention that I've been late to at least three meetings this month when we desperately need to discuss the trade. Give me my helmet, Gilbert. _Bitte_?"

Gilbert was quite surprised with Roderich's pleading, and slightly suspicious. He took off his own glove from one of his hands and bent over, touching his exposed fingers over the other's forehead. "You're sick."

"Nearly all of the European nations are sick, Gilbert, if you've forgotten about the current crisis. I probably caught it or something. It's no big deal."

"Everyone's already getting better. You're burning like molten lead. I don't think it's something to do with your nation, Roddy-cakes."

"Then maybe I should go _home_, don't you think?"

Gilbert pulled back, pulling off his other glove and tucking the pair into his pockets. "Give me your gloves."

"They won't fit you. Just give me my helmet, Gilbert."

"I might give you your helmet if you give me your gloves," Prussia said in irritation, outstretching his hand for the gloves that fit over Roderich's slender fingers. Roderich looked reluctant, eyeing the other's bare hand in defiance, before sighing. He tugged off the cloth gently at each finger slowly, as he felt a strange pang in his chest, telling him not to give them up, and slapped them into the Prussian's hands. Austria quickly averted his gaze and crossed his arms, annoyed with the fact that he basically just made a deal with the devil.

Gilbert, however, seemed unfazed, like he knew Roderich would give in. He tugged on the gloves easily, realizing that Roderich bought gloves that were a size or two bigger than it should have been. He guessed it was because Roderich didn't like tight clothing. (Which was helplessly true, considering the man would occasionally buy shirts a few sizes bigger to wear in public or for bed. It didn't matter which, he just liked to feel a bit free in his clothing.) Wrapping an arm around the other's waist, Gilbert easily lifted the aristocrat and placed him further to the back of the bike. Roderich, of course, protested against this action, but Gilbert swiftly ignored it as he got on the bike himself and, out of no where, pulled out the Austrian's helmet to place on his own head. "You've got goggles, right? Put 'em on, because I'm not going to drive slow," he called, starting up the engine. He let it roar for a moment, puffing out some smoke at the end, before turning the clutch and moving out of the lot.

Roderich had quickly put on the goggles and hastily wrapped his arms around the albino's middle, terrified with the fact that he was not driving, the person in front of him more than likely did not have a license, and they were going about 90 miles per hour in crowded streets. To say the least, Roderich was not in a happy situation.

People had moved out of the way of the speeding vehicle in panic, trying their best not to get hit by the mad rider. Roderich wanted to say sorry to every horrified face that passed by, but when his mouth opened, all that came up was a shriek of terror.

The ride was not pleasant.

Of course, with the speed they were taking, Gilbert made it to Roderich's home in no time at all, greatly fueling the aristocrat's relief. He had been utterly mortified with that adventure, and prayed that he would never have to go through something like that again.

Gilbert got off and helped the sick, shaky Austria off the bike, much to the man's surprise. Gilbert was never this gentle with Roderich, yet he wished he was. It sent a warm tingling feeling through him, one that he felt many times before. It was a confusing feeling, since it popped out at random times with people throughout his life. It started with Antonio, before they were even married, but transferred to Elizaveta a bit afterwards. When Roderich and Elizaveta divorced, he would still get the feeling when he brought back memories of the past, which only confused him even more, but slowly, that feeling faded away to nothing, leaving a numb thumping of the pulse. He wondered why he was feeling it now, out of all times, but he didn't say anything about it. He could only blame the little fever he had. (Though, it was too pleasant for a fever to cause.) Stupid, irritating fever. Roderich, once again, muttered vulgar German under his breath, so softly that Gilbert could barely hear a thing. Not that Gilbert wanted to hear the atrocious things that Roderich was muttering to himself, somewhere around the lines "_mutter verdammtes_" and "_scheiße isst fieber._" Roderich did not cuss often, unless he had one horrible migraine that didn't seem like it would be going away any time soon, so it was easy to tell that his mood was not good, and his head was probably pounding badly.

Getting out his keys, Roderich unlocked the door of his house and stumbled in, dizzy from the overly speedy ride. Seriously, who the hell drove that fast? It may be a motorcycle, but even a motorcycle needs to obey the speed limits! Does everyone seem to forget that? Or is it just that annoying, infuriating Prussian with the ego too big for his own body? It made Roderich frustrated to think that this man was aloud to freely go around in his beautiful streets and cause such outrageous commotions. Not to mention that Roderich was now dragged into it. He was probably going to expect the police later.

Gilbert walked in and slammed the door behind him, walking over to keep Roderich upright. "So, Specs, how long have you been sporting a fever?"

"I don't know and I don't care. Please get your arm off of my waist so I may start on my paperwork in my office. Might I add that my office is off limits? I think I shall add that."

Prussia pouted, taking back his arm and giving a mock hurt expression. "Little master, do you believe that the awesome me will violate you?!"

"Yes!"

"Preposterous!" Gilbert yelled over-dramatically, heading over down the halls towards the kitchen. "You got beer? I'm taking it."

"Get out."

"Nah."

"That wasn't a question."

"Well, your royal stick-up-the-ass, I ignored your command." Gilbert took a teasing bow and closed the kitchen door, leaving Roderich in a deathly silence. The frustration was building up, and Roderich wanted to slam his fingers onto the ivory keys of his professional grand piano. Of course, he'd never actually do that. His piano was the one thing he truly thought was pure, sweet, and loving. The only thing he thought was capable of reaching other's hearts. Smearing blood and sweat onto it's perfect keys doesn't sound like very good care.

With a deep, shaky breath, Roderich stood up straight and brushed off imaginary dirt from his coat, walking over to what he thought would probably be his office. He wasn't the best with directions, he would(n't) admit, but he would never ask for help of any kind. Worse, ask help from his long-time rival. So, with his stubborn attitude, Roderich walked dumbly through his long, empty halls, acting like he knew where he was going. And, surprise, surprise, he ended up in the wrong room. He found himself stalk still, staring longingly at the comfortable mattress that laid so temptingly in the middle of his fine, clean room. Two thick, soft cotton blankets were draped over the bed, and fluffy, white pillows were aligned perfectly for a head to rest on. Roderich was torn between falling asleep, or doing his work. He also had that little urge to let out all of his feelings from this day through the lovely melodies of his grand piano. Oh my, what to do? Torn between three options, all that sounded very pleasing.

Roderich had chosen to follow the closest in his reach– his bed. Sluggishly, he climbed onto the firm mattress, slowly stripping the blankets. He kicked off his trousers, folding them and setting them down onto the ground, and hung his coat on the rack by the side of his bed. He tucked himself in, neatly pressing the cotton onto his body, and let his eyelids droop down. He fell asleep, only in his boxers and buttoned shirt.

* * *

Gilbert had been raiding the fridge, looking for wherever the hell Roderich hid the beer. "Damned aristocrat," he muttered in distaste. "Seriously, he's Austrian! I'm almost positive that there's some fancy-schmancy chart that says Austrians drink as much as Germans! Hmph, he should start being more... Austrian!" Gilbert was, admittedly, a bit confused with his own words, considering that Roderich himself was Austria. But Gilbert didn't really care about that, he just wanted his goddamn beer! He continued to rummage through the cake-filled fridge in frustration, shuffling away drinks that he didn't know of, and were more than likely not alcohol. He swore he saw a pink, milky looking liquid in a clear jar, but he wasn't going to question it. He's heard about Austria's addiction with strawberries, and he was pretty sure that was just handmade strawberry milk. Finally, he got something out that he was not familiar with, but it was in a green glass bottle like German beer, so he assumed it must be alcohol.

"Finally! Kesesese~, stupid Priss! You can't hide your goods from me! So, let's see what this is~!" Gilbert read the label, his eyebrows scrunched up. "Pear... eeair... Perrier. Never heard of this stuff. Ooh! It's fizzing! Must be one of those fancy sparkling alcohols or something! Hell yeah, I found the good stuff!" Gilbert gave out a loud "whoop" before slamming the fridge door and running over to the cabinets to get himself a glass, filling it to the brim with the fizzing substance. He examined it for a bit, a goofy smile stuck on his face, before taking a sip and twisting his smile into a disgusted look.

"This isn't alcohol," he groaned, dumping the water down the sink. "Whatever! I'm sure West has some! Kesesese, of course he does! I'm an awesome genius!" And with that, the overly hyper Prussian exited the mansion, leaving the dead silence that traced through every corner.

* * *

The ticking of the grandfather clock echoed through the narrow halls, the moonlight from the watercolored windows shining a rainbow of colors onto the walls and red carpet. Bust statues of Austria's former rulers lined down the halls, one for each individual window. They all seemed to have glowing, silver eyes, that watched any person who would walk through. The faint noises of rustling leaves and shaking branches came from the tall birch tree that stood right by an open window, and a black owl faintly hooted under the crystal white moonlight, it's yellow eyes piercing into the hall from the outside. Clouds dusted the sky, occasionally covering up the full moon. It was an indicator that a storm would soon hit, a sign against all auspicious ones from before that moment.

The clock struck two O'clock, AM, and a low gong sounded loudly, resonating through the house. It rang –one, twice, thrice– then ended with a silent click, before continuing in it's quieter tick-tocks. There was a few moments of the same, mechanical routine, before suddenly, in the midst of a window, a dark, defined shadow blocked the way of the moonlight. It crawled from one stain glass window to another, finally reaching the exposed one, before hopping in on nimble feet. A white lab coat followed through the passageway, slightly ripped and dirty. A tall, keen man stood straight, bringing a hand up so he could fix his slightly tousled hair and adjust his rubber, pastel-colored gloves. His eyes were a dark brown, and his hair was black as coal. His skin was olive, which made his it blend well with the dim of the outside world. He looked left, then right, listening carefully for any faint sound of an upcoming trespasser; a trespasser in his plans, that is. Of course, though, he found none. Gilbert had long since gone off to his brother's house in search of beer, and Roderich was fast asleep, completely oblivious to the "guest" who invited themselves into his household. The man was in the clear, for the moment, and will continue to stay that way as well.

In one swift movement, the mysterious man had walked down the hall and reached for a silver doorknob, turning ever so slowly in a successful attempt to keep everything silent and suspicious-free. Carefully, the door was opened up about an inch without so much as a creak from the hinges, and the man caught the sight of the owner of the mansion, Roderich, blissfully unaware of any activity in his mansion. Just staying fast asleep, his chest rising, then falling, without any indication of stress or annoyance. So peaceful, the man thought. So beautiful. Perfect for his plans.

However, the man grew too impatient, and had opened the door a bit faster than he had wanted. The door creaked loudly, causing the sleeping aristocrat to grumble and slowly let himself wake from his peaceful dreams. He groggily got up, glaring at nothing but air. He didn't know what woke him up, probably some noise that his stupid, arrogant "friend" decided to whip up downstairs in the kitchen, or possibly in his piano room. He imagined Gilbert sabotaging his lovely piano. Roderich acquiesced the theories and got up, his limbs feeling numb and a bit sluggish. He groaned and dismissed the pins and needles that crawled up his legs and arms, letting his feet thump over to the door and zip through it, then carefully walk down the stairs, as if his supporting limbs would give out and have him fall to his misery. During his careful movement, the olive skinned man had followed close behind, hidden in the shadows, away from any moonlight. He was cursing his luck, his horrible, horrible luck. Roderich, however, did not hear a single one of the curses, too tired and too focused on organizing his thoughts over what he would say when he'd admonish the Prussian.

But of course, once Roderich made it down the stairs, he had no idea where to go. His sense of direction was so poor it made him want to cry, yet he didn't, just to keep his dignity as a male. And if Prussia really was there, he was in no way willing to let the albino see his tear-streaked face and red eyes. So, he once again pretended that he knew where he was going, and just followed the way that felt right to him. The man followed behind closely, observing every movement of Roderich's lithe body, straight with perfect posture, so elegant. His mind raced with thoughts, all not the most appropriate, and all about Roderich. The plan he'd been saving for this one individual was planned out, so perfectly, and he wanted to rush into it and finish his job. Finally get his hands on the beautiful musician. But he knew he had to wait; wait for the perfect opportunity. He could not do it with the "young" man still awake. He had to wait. And wait he will gladly do, just to get his paws on _that._

Roderich had made it to his destination, or at least the place his body willed him to go, and opened the large double doors. There sat his luxurious piano, proud under the bright white moonlight coming from the large, opened window. Roderich briefly tried to remember when he left those big windows open, before realizing that he let Prussia in that morning through there. Not that he wanted to, it was just because he saw Gilbird and he wanted to play with Gilbird. That's all.

Roderich went to close the window, locking it in case the storm would hit and shove it open again, before settling over to his piano bench. He slid the cover off of the keys, and gently brushed his fingertips over each of the notes, feeling his pulse aching at the very contact of the instrument. He settled his fingers, closed his eyes, and let the music sweep him into nothing but pure bliss. First Arabesque. He could see each note play through his mind the moment his fingers hit the ivory, and he could feel the imaginary audience watching him, all with wide eyes, fully absorbed in the story that the piece held. He could hear each and every individual key that resonated through the mansion. He knew no voice could match the beauty of the music he held at his fingertips, because a piano was more pure that any person could ever be. Even himself.

Peace washed over his body, his heart rose up from his chest, like it was soaring through invisible clouds, and he could see everything in the sky. Flocks of white ducks twisting through the fluff of clouds, and people waving at them from large, colorful hot air balloons. Feathers fell down like gifts, all reaching down to a lake, shimmering under the sun. A swan would fly down and stretch it wings. Everything was like a movie, from one scene to the next, all connecting. The only difference is that it was all up to the listener. The listener chose what story they would like to interpret the music with. A movie chooses the plot. But music gave you the option.

The man with olive skin had hid behind a curtain, sitting down with his knees tucked into his chest. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he listened, moved by the angelic melody. He was certain now. He would not give up on his plan.

Roderich ended the piece, letting the note hold long and steady, before getting up and covering the delicate scale once again. He turned around, feeling less stiff, and headed back upstairs, retracing his steps back to his bedroom. He draped the blanket over his body once more, and like before, he nestled in and fell asleep. The man watched Roderich's chest rise and fall, steady and even. Slowly, he crept closer and closer, taking out a thin, silver needle out of his pocket. Sea green liquid filled it, and once he was close enough, the man gently prodded the needle in Roderich's arm and waited. The grandfather clock ticked from outside the room, sending a wave of anticipation with each tick and tock. All of a sudden, Roderich shivered violently, and curled up into a little ball. He found himself unable to open his eyes, or to stretch his legs out, or to even speak. He began to panic, now fully awake and realizing that he was not in a safe position. And he realized very quickly that he was not the only one in his room.

The man smiled evilly, extending his arms down to gently pick up the other male bridal style. His plan had worked. Now all he needed to do was to leave with his prize.


	2. Chapter II: Discovering

Gilbert sighed in content, drowning the yellow liquid down his throat. Beside him sat his younger brother, Ludwig, staring down at a couple of files, a pair of reading glasses set nicely on the bridge of his nose. The TV set was on, playing some kind of soap opera that Gilbert watched with little interest. "So, West," Gilbert coughed, a bit irked by the awkward atmosphere. "I heard that you tried to confess. Didn't work well, did it?" If anything, that little statement only made the situation worse, as Ludwig grumbled something inaudible under his breath and scooted a foot away from the other. "Fine then, don't tell me. I'll just sit here and watch cheesy shows while drowning myself in alcohol so in the morning, you'll wake up to find three sexy, naked men with confetti all over them on your couch. One of them being the awesome me."

"You wouldn't invite Antonio and Francis to my house."

"Try me."

Ludwig groaned, sliding of his glasses to face-palm. "And should I ask why the hell there would be confetti involved?"

"Probably not. But if you REALLY want to know, it involves a circus that's coming into town at around 1:00AM."

A long silence filled the room, Ludwig staring down at the wooden coffee table as he contemplated over what to say, and Gilbert drinking at least five more bottles of beer to sooth his fidgeting body. "Ja, I confessed. Italy had no idea what the sheiße I was saying."

"What did you say?" Gilbert said, not looking at Ludwig to seem like he wasn't interested. In all truth, he was fully interested. His baby brother actually confessed to someone? That's something that big brother Gilbert surely wanted some info on! Ludwig, however, looked right through Gilbert's façade, and shook his head. Really, what did Gilbert took him for? Some boy with his own childhood sweetheart? Pathetic.

"I said 'Ich liebe dich.' He took it as if I was saying I loved him as a friend."

"Sounds like the Feli I know," Gilbert sighed, then laughed bitterly. "Specs didn't teach him about anything. Sometimes I wonder if that guy is just as innocent, but then I remember, he must be! He's been asexual for as long as I've known him!"

"Are you okay with that?"

Another awkward aura filled the room, and Gilbert instantly regretted coming over to this house. Now, he wished that he stayed at the aristocrat's household, gulping down that disgusting nonalcoholic substance, probably sabotage the house-owner's piano in an attempt to see that cute, pissed off face. Gilbert would have preferred that, but instead he's stuck in a thick atmosphere in the middle of a question that seems to make him feel bitter about everything. He scowled. Damn his situation. Damn his luck. "Course I am, why wouldn't I be? Anyways, I'm going to bed." That was a blatant lie, but he really just wanted to get out of there. Away from that question that floated in the air, staring down at him as he rushed out of the living room.

Ludwig watched the scene play out with a smirk, amused with the reaction more than he should have been. "Moron," he said, shaking his head. "You really need to start paying attention to the people around you, especially to the person you like. Then again, I guess I'm not one to talk." Shrugging, Ludwig clicked off the black and white TV and continued to scribble down his important files neatly, triple checking in case he missed any details.

Gilbert had ran down the stairs and locked himself inside the steel door of his bedroom, then flopped onto his bed. He buried his face into an oddly shaped pillow, fully ignoring the little yellow puffball that flew into his white locks and fell asleep. He started to think about something. Anything to get his mind off of the recent image. But every single thing that he shot through his thoughts always ended up being pushed away by a pair of striking, violet eyes, both mesmerizing and scarring. With each thought, the image would complete itself, adding a pair of plump lips, then a button nose, then the trademark pair of unnecessary glasses. It made Gilbert want to punch a hole through his perfect red and white walls, kick his organized magazines into the air, and shout German profanity at the innocent air. Of course, unless he wanted to get kicked out and start making a living on the streets, Gilbert could not do any of that. He could only think negative things to himself. "Fuck him," Gilbert growled, lifting his head up from the wet pillow, fully revealing his tear-streaked face. "Fuck him for being so perfect, then deciding that he's going to be asexual. Fuck him for not getting a clue. Not one fucking clue. Damnit Specs, start thinking! Why do you think I sneak into your place almost every day? It's never only because I want to annoy you... Fuck you... Fuck you and your perfect eyes, and your perfect nose, and your perfect hair, and your perfect little everything... I hate you for making me love you..."

A tiny, but angry chirp was heard just above Gilbert's head, and he watched his little chick fly down and sit on the dampened pillow, staring disapprovingly at it's owner. Gilbert's facial features relaxed, and he chuckled, picking up the yellow fluff and gently stroking his head. "Sorry for waking you up, Gilbird. The awesome me has been having a lot to think about. That bad ol' Priss was causing me some trouble, as usual." The tiny bird squeaked in reply, cutely rubbing it's head against the other's calloused thumb. Gilbert smiled lightly, not having enough energy to muster that highly egotistic, proud smirk, and settled his friend down in it's own, special little bed, watching it walk around before falling back asleep, soundly and peacefully. Gilbert silently wished to himself that he could do that. Just forget about all his troubles and go to sleep.

What was he saying? Of course he can do that, he's the almighty and awesome Prussia! Besides, sleeping seemed to be the best option. It was around 3:00 AM, and he got up yesterday at 5:00 to attend a meeting. Believe it or not, he was actually very scheduled. He kept a diary for every day of his life, since he first appeared! That should be proof enough! Which reminds him, he wrote his entry earlier that day, so he doesn't have anything written on how he totally saved the Priss's sick ass. He'll do that tomorrow. For now, he'll just sleep next to his little bird and dream about the one thing he wants.

Lying down, Gilbert stretched his hand to switch off the light bulb, his room illuminating itself with red and purple glow-in-the-dark animals, many of them birds. All revolved around that one bird that made Gilbert feel whole, the black, double headed eagle. Or, purple, now that it was glowing. Gilbert took a long glance at his representative and smirked, almost half the amount of ego he usually had pressed into it, and closed his ruby eyes, reassured that his dreams will be filled with that one thing he wanted so dearly. Specs.

* * *

That morning, Gilbert was woken up by an annoying ringing from his steel clock, edging closer and closer off the edge of the countertop. He flung his hand out blindly, slapping the wooden surface as he searched for the dancing time demon, before getting too annoyed to deal with the little shit and pulled out a gun from under his pillow to shoot it. Which he did. And then, he realized that he broke another one of his clocks. Damn. "Whatever, it was annoying the awesome me," he grumbled. "Too early for that shit." Despite his internal protests, however, he got up, stomped upstairs to the bathroom, and got himself ready for the day. The same routine he goes through every day.

Gilbird joined him on his way to the kitchen, both attracted to the smell of sizzling wursts and beer. There was a sweet scent somewhere in there, but it was completely ignored by the overpowering ones that made Gilbert's mouth water. He barged into the kitchen, a goofy smile on his face, and yelled, "Oi! West! What'cha cooking? I smell something more than wursts!" And, like every morning, Ludwig was standing by the stove, but the only difference today was that he was wearing a frilly pink apron with the words "I heart pasta" on the front, obviously a gift from a certain pasta loving Italian. Gilbert stared for a moment, trying to understand what he thought about this, but burst out laughed. He fell to the ground and clutched his stomach, too amused with the sight before him. "Geez, West, you must really like that guy to actually agree to wearing," He paused, taking a long look at the girly thing on his brother, "something like _that!_" He continued in his hysterical laughter for a few more moments, before letting it die down. He got up and wiped away invisible tears from his eyes, walking over to the wooden table and seating himself. "Wow, my awesome throat hurts from laughing so much. Seriously, Ita gave you that? I'm not surprised by his gift, but I'm sure as hell surprised by the fact that you're _wearing _it! Looking good, bruder!"

Ludwig simply glared, before taking Gilbert's plate of wursts and pancakes. "This was what you were smelling. It's not yours. We're having guests today and one of them are quite fond of these pancakes. And if you mention this apron once in front of our visitors, I will throw out all of your comics and kick you out into the streets. Plain and simple."

Gilbert rolled his eyes, knowing full well that his brother was just bluffing. He might seem scary and intimidating, but he was soft enough to not kick Prussia out for teasing him. Breaking holes in the walls, however, was a no-no. "So, West," Gilbert said, grabbing an icy beer from the refrigerator. "Who are these guests? Do I know 'em? Hmm, fond of pancakes... Belgium?"

Ludwig gave an exasperated look, setting down the four food-filled plates onto the wooden table, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Pancakes, not waffles, dummkopf. And you do know them, one of them is in fact a male that you've trained."

"Trained? You mean, like, train their military? You talking about the thick-headed American? If he's coming, then who the hell else is he bringing?"

"His brother."

Prussia blinked, a look of confusion etching through his face. "America has a brother? I mean, I thought he officially stopped being England's brother, like, I dunno... a few centuries ago." The look on Ludwig's face made Gilbert frown, and he took a quick swig of his yellow liquid. "Okay, not the angry Briton. Who is it then?"

"The guy who scared the living fuck out of me during both World War I and II. Remember?"

Gilbert gave a look that indicated that his mind was drawing a blank, and he took another sip of his beer.

"Mein gott, du bist ein DUMMKOPF! It's Canada! The angry, silent boy who completely refused my immigrants during WWI and fiercely battled for the liberation of Holland in WWII!"

Gilbert did a spit-take, coughing loudly with wide eyes. "T-THAT GUY!? Are you fucking kidding me!? He's a freaking DEMON! Why are you letting him in here!?"

Ludwig sighed, seemingly satisfied with the results. Gilbert knew him, and that's all that Ludwig really cared about. "Everyone changes, Prueßen."

"That's not alw-"

"Do I still look like the mass-murdering maniac that I was during World War II? Do I still stare at Austria in a way that suggests that I want to throw him into a concentration camp? Do I-"

"I get it," Gilbert said darkly, his eyes full of emotions that were too unclear for Ludwig to identify. "I get it, Ludwig. People change. Just... Just don't mention the concentration camps. You know, if you ever said anything about those in front of Roderich, he would lock himself up in his room and refuse to come out. He's still traumatized from his first visit. He threw out anything to do with religion." Gilbert grumbled something about the stubborn Austrian under his breath, then waited, surprisingly patient, for Ludwig to respond.

"I..." Ludwig knitted his eyebrows together, deep into his thoughts. "I wish he would tell me what he experienced. Or at least I wish I had some recording, or _anything_. If I knew anything about it, it would help me a bit for my list of 'What I Should Never Do Again'. I can tell he still scoots far away from me whenever I get near him." There was a long pause of silence, more moody than awkward, and Gilbert tapped his fingers in a random beat over the wooden surface. Neither seemed like they wanted to talk about the subject anymore, so they waited until one decided to break the mind-racking silence. Though, neither needed to, as a loud ring came from the front door. Ludwig calmly stood up, tucking the girly apron into a drawer. "I'll go answer it. Stay here and... don't touch anything."

Gilbert rolled his eyes, giving out a sarcastic salut. He waited in his chair, nervously tapping his foot onto the leg of the table. He cracked his knuckles out of habit, annoyed with the itching feeling to stretch his fingers out. Chattering was coming from the living room, where the front door was closest too, and Gilbert strained to hear the small talk from the three nations.

"Hello, Germany."

"Hello, America, Canada."

"Dude, thanks for letting us come over, brah! It's been boring at my place lately. Tony's out of town."

"Al, I visit three times a week... I live right next to you..."

Gilbert found himself extremely bored with the conversation, so he began tracing his fingers over the decorative purple lines of the plate. Instantly, his thoughts raced to that certain Austrian, and he silently mused how the aristocrat's eyes were a much prettier violet than the gloomy lines of the expensive plate. He pressed his nail firmly into the paint, violently chipping off the clear coating in order to pick out the purple underneath. He stopped immediately when he heard footsteps making way towards the kitchen, flicking away the specs of paint from his nail. The two North American brothers entered the kitchen, Ludwig right behind them. Ludwig briefly took a glance at Gilbert's plate, and raised his eyebrow towards him. A knowing smile made way to his features, which looked quite unusual for the German, considering he knew absolutely zip about love or anything that has to do with _him_. Or, at least that's what Gilbert liked to think.

The two foreign brothers sat down at the table, one being very polite and sitting down with good posture, whilst the other just flopped down and leaned the chair back casually. Gilbert mentally gave himself a pat on the back for teaching the American so _well. _Now he just needs to find a way to influence the Canadian without remembering the World Wars and shit. Then again... He is already fierce enough. Gilbert bit his lip, thinking that he'd actually rather _not _teach the scary-ass Canadian any of his war tricks. Yeah, that would be a bit bad...

"So, Prussia, dude, how's it been goin' for ya? You know, with the whole loss of your land-" The was a firm thumping noise from under the table, and America flinched. "I mean, um, how's it going with, uh, you and your friends-" another firm kick, and America bit his lip. "Uh... Yeah, forget about that. So, how's your lovey-dovey time with Austria!" America screwed his eyes shut and hunched his shoulders a little, waiting for the "you're being rude" kick from his brother, but it never came. He opened an eyelid and saw the Canadian looking intently at the albino, curiosity also etched in his features. America sighed, happy that he escaped that scene.

Gilbert stared blankly at the two for a moment, before grabbing his fork and violently smashing it into his wursts and shoving it into his mouth. The two brothers looked at each other for a moment, then looked down at their plates, a bit embarrassed that they upset the old ex-nation.

"Don't mind him, America, he's just being an ass." Ludwig shot a dirty look at Gilbert, seating himself down in front of his plate. "Gilbert, why don't you answer America. Or at least say 'hi' to our guests."

"Hello, my protégé. Hello my protégé's birdie."

"Are you implying that I am Alfred's pet?"

"If by "pet", you mean "lover", then yup. Pretty much."

There was a long silence, and Canada's face slowly darkened into a deep, beet red. "W-we're _broth-_"

"Didn't stop Lili and Vash," Gilbert interrupted, taking a spoonful of mashed potatoes and shoving it into his mouth. "I doubt it would stop America from trying to pull some stunts on you. Heck, I've _seen _him pull some flirts with you. You're either pretty oblivious, or America flirts with people unconsciously. I don't believe the second theory, so I'm going with the first. Besides, you two aren't even blood brothers. Arthur said so himself." Gilbert got up, taking his plate of food, and dropped it into the sink. Then, he headed towards the door and slipped on his coat from last night, tying it around his waist. "I'm going to Specs's place. I don't wanna deal with the shit here."

"Gilbert, we have a meeting later this afternoon," Ludwig said, his glare trailing over Gilbert unwavering, intense. He was about to break a certain someone's neck for disturbing their guest, as well as embarrassing one to the point of letting their head drop down to look under the table. Canada being the embarrassed one.

"Specs'll drive me." He snickered, musing over how he'd probably have to drive since the aristocrat was sick. "Huh, I like that idea. His ride is totally awesome." Gilbert smirked and thought to himself about how he looked on that totally rad motorbike, speeding down the streets of Vienna. Yeah, he must've looked awesome. "Anyways, I'll be back to see you all fighting and throwing hissy fits, other than West who would be seething in the corner like the uptight German he is, in the meeting this afternoon! Oh, and I might annoy Specs a bit, so if he comes into the meeting in a bad mood, don't mess with him." Gilbert silently added that only he was aloud to mess with the priss, but no one heard that. Not that Gilbert exactly wanted anyone to hear that in the first place.

* * *

Gilbert crossed the Austrian border on a taxi, then rented a orange and white KTM motorcycle from some random, creepy guy off the streets (who probably knew Gilbert wasn't going to give it back and charged a bit extra). Gilbert didn't like it, since the orange didn't look awesome. If it was red, that'd match him perfectly, but orange? Ha, what a joke. At least the white matches his hair, but people aren't going to be paying much attention to that. Everyone usually assumed he dyed it, but screw that! Gilbert was 100% natural, thank you very much! Everyone should shut their yaps and notice that totally awesome people don't need to alter their awesome appearances! More specifically, Gilbert doesn't need to alter himself to look any more awesome than he is. How can you make him more awesome, anyways? He's already reached the top of that pyramid.

Going through the streets of Vienna was much more easier, considering it was daytime and everyone were probably passed out on booze in their houses or in the pubs and bars. Maybe even the cafes, but Gilbert remembered that a cafe would probably not be chock full of alcohol and would've ran out fairly quickly. Whatever, the people weren't crowding the streets, the reason isn't all that important. Let's just leave it at that. And Gilbert was driving through the streets on an ugly motorcycle that many people would yearn for. And he was not exactly paying much attention to the things around him, which meant that he was probably going to get pulled over by a cop soon, but Gilbert didn't give a shit. He was thinking of things that pleasured him.

Sadly, though, those wonderful thoughts ended much too soon, as Gilbert closed in onto the proud mansion of the little princess's. Gilbert smirked, happy to finally make it to the household, but frowned immediately after he saw the two police cars parked outside the gates. He parked alongside one of the cares, pulling off his helmet and abandoning the area as he rushed through the gates and up the front garden. Two police officers stood by the front door, one leaning on the tree that the owner of the mansion took such good care of. Strangely, that pissed Gilbert off. "_Was zur Hölle macht ihr hier?!_" The two Austrian officers turned around, facing the angry Prussian. They looked at each other, as if saying "oh great, another punk," and looked back at the door. One knocked hastily, like he's done it before. "Oi! _I rede mit dir, Kumpel! _Don't you _dare _fucking ignore me!" One of the officers snickered, and Gilbert growled. "What, surprised I know two languages? Well, SUCK IT LOSER, I do! Now what the _fuck _are you doing at Roderich's place, huh? _Was habt ihr in diesem Innenhof zu suchen? Das ist Roderichs Grundstück!_"

"_Ich fürchte wir müssen Sie auffordern, dass Sie jetzt gehen, werter Herr._"

"_Nein, ich habe ein Recht darauf zu wissen, was hier los ist._ I'm giving you one chance, WTF is going on?!"

"There was a motorcycle speeding through the streets of Vienna last night and created quite a bit of chaos," the snickering officer replied, a smirk on his features. "We're here to do our job, so suck it loser."

Gilbert gaped. Austria's people were snarky as fuck, and Gilbert now wonders what the damned aristocrat says in his head. Probably witty, sarcastic replies that would make even a gang member lose their jaw. And Gilbert also gaped over the fact that the guy knew English. Fuck. "Nobody steals my awesome line," Gilbert growled. "And I'm sorry to tell you, but the Priss didn't ride his motorcycle last night. That was me. I pretty much forcefully rode him home myself since he was sick as hell, and he would've gotten in an accident and crash into a brick wall."

"I'd be more worried to ride with you than driving sick."

"I didn't crash into a wall, everything's all good."

"Mmhm," The cop took out a little pad and began writing stuff down on it. "You're Gilbert Beilschmidt, correct? You pretty much live here, considering you visit every day and occasionally sleep over."

Gilbert gave an uncomfortable look. "...Stalker?"

"NEIN, just answer the goddamn question!"

"Ja, I'm the awesome and amazing Gilbert, what of it?" Gilbert replied, crossing his arms to come off intimidating. It didn't help much, since the other two officers were way too tall compared to the albino. It made Gilbert a bit frustrated. Why were all these Austrians so fucking tall while Austria himself is short and at least 50 times less burly? It didn't make any fucking sense. Gilbert probably wouldn't like the idea of a burly Austria though. He grimaced. Yeah, no. Gross. Just ew. He wouldn't want to see that in a million years. Shit, the image is forever burned into his brain now.

The officer tore off the piece of paper and handed it to Gilbert, a bit uncaring. "Better pay that fine if you don't want to lose your license. Can we see your license?"

"After you get out of here and I can see Roderich. How long have you two been waiting at the front door anyways?"

The officer thought for a moment. "About 20 minutes or so."

"And you didn't just go in?" Gilbert asked, shocked. What type of cops are these guys? Geez, Specs could do better than these buffoons.

"We need a warrant for that-"

"Screw warrants, if someone didn't answer the cops who've been waiting out their door for 20 minutes, you'd think something is _wrong_, don't you agree?! Move out of my way!"

"Sir, he's probably not in-"

"He's _sick!_ Where the fuck is he going to go?! Like I said, he'd probably drive right into a wall! And I came here to ride him to a meeting we need to attend this afternoon, damnit! He isn't going to leave knowing he has to go to a meeting! He's a priss like that!" Gilbert reach for the nob and yanked the door open, knowing about how the lock broke two or three weeks before. He never thought he'd be glad that the aristocrat didn't fix that, and he ran inside the house. "Oi, Specs! _Wo bist du?!_" There was no response, and Gilbert paled lightly, if that was possible with his skin. He ran up the spiral staircase and into the aristocrat's bedroom, not bothering to knock.

No one.

The only thing left was a small, silver cufflink, a crown in it's middle, laying on the floor, right in front of the doorway. Gilbert bent down, picking up the shimmering piece of shit that always annoyed him. Now, he stared at it, eyes tearing up at what had crossed his mind. The officers soon found themselves behind Gilbert, watching as he cried, letting his tears fall into his hands.

Roderich was kidnapped.

* * *

**Omg, I totally suck at making stories. I feel as if this went way too fast. *Bangs head on piano* Kesese, Roderich would have killed me to see me mistreating my piano. Sadly, he's not here. He's in the next chapter. And sorry for any spelling mistakes, if you see any! I got a bit sloppy towards the end! (And may someone help me with the German? I have a really strange feeling that everything I put was wrong.)**

**Edit: Can I thank Starmix for giving me a fine translation of my horrible German? Fuck it, I don't need permission, THANK YOU SO MUCH STARMIX! It's such a big help! I will be using German a lot in later chapters. ;w; You're awesome like Prussia, I swear. **


End file.
